


What not to do

by orphan_account



Series: Sherlock spanking stories [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock creates a stupid (not to mention dangerous) experiment. And regrets it when he ends up in a position he had really hoped he wouldn't be in again. </p><p>Or, Sherlock is a mad scientist and gets his bum spanked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What not to do

**Author's Note:**

> Set quite far after A Lesson Learned.

Sherlock was in the morgue, surreptitiously cutting some toes off a corpse. Luckily Molly was off filing paperwork somewhere. She tended to get awfully upset when he mutilated the dead people.

He was slowly dissolving a selection of toes in a special solution he had recently created. Unfortunately, it seemed to be causing a very peculiar smell, which was so strong he found he had to stuff his nose with tissues in order to prevent him from retching. That was the main reason he wasn't doing this experiment at Baker Street; Mrs Hudson would play hell at the stench. That and John would almost certainly make him get rid of it if he knew the potential this liquid had.

It could revolutionise the art of melting things if used to its full capacity!

Sherlock put down his knife and filling a beaker with his creation very, very carefully - he definitely didn't want this on him. Not after the effect it had had on the first series of toes.

He gently filled a pipette with some weak hydrochloric acid and spurted it in, dropping another toe in quickly.

It gave a small eruption as the two collided and Sherlock found even he was affected by the powerful odour this time. He coughed, pulling away from the lab table as a thick blue-grey smoke filled the air.

By the time the smoke had cleared and Sherlock had surfaced from his choking fit the toe was completely stripped to the bone. Nothing was left but the skeletal remains and Sherlock stared, before quickly grabbing a pair of tweezers and extracting the bones from the now bloody coloured solution.

Sherlock looked at the acid and bit his lip. He knew that this probably wasn't the best idea. He knew perfectly well. 

"Oh, what the hell," He said out loud, smiling. However, he did put on his thick leather gloves, after taking another look at the disintegrated toe.

He chopped himself some more toes and gently began pouring out more of his special solution into a fresh beaker, before he was rudely interrupted by a rather choked voice calling out: "God, Sherlock, what is that awful smell?"

Sherlock spun around. Mike Stamford strode over, holding a handkerchief to his nostrils.

"Experiment," he said lightly, trying to shield the results from Stamford's view.

But unfortunately it appeared the man had already seen them. "Sherlock, you can't do that in here! It's far too dangerous!"

"It's fine." 

"It's not - did you make that yourself?"

"Obviously."

"That stuff's untested," Mike began to protest. "Anything could happ- Sherlock, stop that!"  
Sherlock had rolled his eyes and began to measure out more hydrochloric acid. Stamford tried to tug the beaker out of his grip but Sherlock just hopped round the other side of the lab table. He dropped a toe in the beaker and grabbed a bottle of strong hydrochloric acid.

He had meant only to pour a tiny amount of the hydrochloric acid into the beaker, but as Stamford followed him round the table he nudged Sherlock's arm, causing his finger to slip.

The entire bottle was poured in. It took Sherlock all of a millisecond to pull Stamford and himself as far from the beaker as they could get before it exploded.

It erupted into a massive cloud of foul smelling smoke and thick, glutinous acid was splattered all over the laboratory, narrowly missing Sherlock. To cap it all, the fire alarm began screaming.

Sherlock fell down, smacking his head on the floor. He was totally overwhelmed and he choked and gagged at the stench while simultaneously shoving his hands over his ears to try and escape the crushing, unrelenting noise. 

He could just make out shapes coming at him through the smoke when his system finally gave in and everything went black.

......

"-ly dangerous, Mycroft confiscated the lot-"

"-ory overload, I gues-"

"-think he might be waking up-"

Sherlock could hear snatches of conversation as he drifted awake, groaning at the pounding in his head. He found himself looking into the eyes of none other than his flatmate himself, John Watson. He was lying flat out on a gurney outside the lab and thankfully someone had turned off the fire alarm.

Sherlock felt relieved at first and he almost smiled. Until he looked at John properly and saw how grim he looked.

Sherlock's mouth suddenly felt very dry.

John leaned over him and softly growled: "Believe me when I say that we will be discussing this when we get home. This, Sherlock is very much not good. " He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He then said in a slightly kinder voice; "But right now, I just want to make sure that you - and Mike too - are ok." 

Sherlock swallowed. Mike. Who was Mike again? Oh yeah. Mike! His eyes went wide.

"Is Mike Stamford ok? Did it get him?" He struggled to sit up, panicking.

"Hey, hey! Sherlock, it's ok. He's fine, just fine," John pushed Sherlock back down, rubbing his bicep reassuringly. "He's just gone home. He's at home. With a stinking headache I might add."

"Oh." Sherlock frowned, trying not to feel so guilty. 

John sat down beside him. "He told me what you did. Pulling him away from the blast like that."

"Did I?"

"Yep. And then fell down and gave yourself a good clonk on the head."

"I think I just blacked out."

"You're probably right." 

John looked exhausted and once again Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt. He had ruined his friend's evening off with his antics and he knew the man had been stressed this week.

He attempted to sit up again, slowly now and John helped this time, bracing a hand behind Sherlock's back and lifting him up with a grunt.

Sherlock sat on the gurney for a little longer, feeling rather dizzy. He jumped when the door to the lab burst open to reveal Molly Hooper, who looked angry. Sherlock looked down.

She marched over and faced him, looking annoyed. "Sherlock, several things. One, you know perfectly well not to cut bits off off the bodies without asking and I really don't know how long it's going to take for you to remember that. Two, don't ever use experimental chemicals in the lab here. We just don't have the facilities for it. And finally three, if someone tells you to stop doing something because it's 'dangerous' then you stop. You stop right away. You do not go round the other side of the table and do it anyway."

"Sorry," Sherlock muttered.

"Good. And also, you've been banned from the lab and mortuary here for a month."

"What!?" Sherlock burst out, finally snapping his head up to look her in the eye. "A month? A whole month?"

"You're lucky it's not longer. If it wasn't for the important crimes you solve with Barts help I can guarantee it would be permanent."

"But that's not fair!"

"Sherlock, you're lucky it's not longer," John cut in firmly. "Just suck it up and shut up. You should've thought about this before you decided to almost blow up a lab."

Sherlock inwardly fumed. He wanted to argue further but he bit back his words - he knew he was in enough trouble already.

John sighed. "Come on then. Let's get you home."

......

John felt slightly mean, sitting in the back of the cab with Sherlock. He could see the younger man was on the edge and he knew Sherlock well enough to see that he was clearly holding back from arguing on purpose.

John decided that Sherlock's punishment could wait until tomorrow. It was late after all and his friend was pretty shaken up. Tonight he could have something to eat - because God knew how long it had been since he'd eaten - and then go straight to bed and get some much needed sleep. And as for tomorrow... Well, tomorrow would bring an important discussion about what was wasn't appropriate behaviour in a hospital run laboratory.

"John." Sherlock spoke.

"What?"

"We're here."

"Oh right. Yeah." He gave a small chuckle at that, paying the cabbie quickly. He saw Sherlock roll his eyes but he didn't give a snarky comment. John was willing to bet his friend was trying to stay on his good side. 

......

"Sherlock, I'm going to make you some toast, ok?"

"Not hungry," Sherlock replied, throwing himself onto the sofa and turning his back sulkily.

"Tough." John walked into the kitchen, choosing to ignore Sherlock's quiet huff.

He spread the toast liberally with peanut butter, which he knew his flatmate liked and headed for the sofa. "Come on, Sherlock. Toast."

"I told you. Not. Hungry." He glared at John.

"Not optional," John said sternly. Sherlock continued to glare, but took his toast.

"How come you have jam, John? Why couldn't I have jam?" Sherlock complained petulantly.

John sighed. Sherlock was really starting to irritate him now. "Sherlock, you don't even like jam."

"Don't I?"

"No. Last time I tried to feed you jam you sulked for ages."

"That was only because you tried to force it on me!"

"Do you want to swap then?" John reached out to grab Sherlock's plate but his friend pulled back, looking scandalised.

"No! It's fine." 

When Sherlock was finished he put his plate down, rubbing his hands.

John looked at his watch. It was already gone midnight. Where did all that time go? "Christ it's late. Sherlock, go to bed. We'll deal with this in the morning."

Sherlock frowned. "I'm not going to bed. I've got experiments to finish!"

"Go to bed. It's late, I'm tired, you're tired. No more experiments."

"That's not fair," Sherlock complained. He stood up, walking towards the kitchen - and his science equipment.

"Sherlock, you're on thin ice right now, don't push it!" John snapped.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes again.

"Right. That's it." And with that John marched over to Sherlock and bent him over the kitchen table, holding him down with one hand and bringing the other down to smack him hard on the rump.

"Ow!" Sherlock attempted to struggle free, but John held firm, simply bringing his hand down again. 

Bringing his hand down on each word he lectured; "Sherlock. You. Do. Not. Behave like a. Brat," Sherlock gave a howl at this point but John ignored him, speaking and smacking quickly at this point. "When you are already in trouble!"

He gave Sherlock several more hard smacks as his disobedient flatmate wriggled and squirmed. He released him and the detective brought his hands back to rub at his sore backside, giving John a betrayed look. Clearly not getting the results he wanted, after a few moments Sherlock ran to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

John gave him ten minutes or so before he went in, armed with a glass of water and a sleeping pill.

Sherlock was curled up under the covers with his back to John, who was relieved to see the line of his pyjama shirt just poking out.

He sat down on the bed besides the Sherlock shaped lump. "Got you some water," he said softly. "And a sleeping pill, if you need it."

Sherlock didn't move.

John sighed, resting a hand on Sherlock's back. "I know you're not asleep. And to put it how it is, you deserved that. And I'd do it again if I had to."

The Sherlock hiding under the duvet was still steadfastly blanking John.

"Come on Sherlock, acknowledge me here. You don't want me to keep talking all night now, do you?" He drummed his fingers on Sherlock's back and in the silence of the room the noise came out almost loud.

Finally there was a shuffle and a creak of the bed springs as Sherlock shifted, rolling over to look at John. His eyes looked slightly red rimmed.

"And there he is!"John said jokily. "Almost thought you'd got lost in there."

Sherlock didn't smile. He just shifted around John and dropped his head in his lap. "This isn't over with, Sherlock,"John said, not unkindly. "We are gonna talk about this. This whole lab explosion thing. And you're going to get punished for it." He felt Sherlock tense and he patted his back a little. "But for now, just get some sleep, ok?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, but pulled his head away from John and took the sleeping pill, shoving his head under a pillow. 

John took this as his invitation to leave. 

......

When Sherlock woke up the following morning, his first thoughts were: "Why is my head under a pillow?" And then; "I wonder how that melting experiment's going." And finally: "Oh shit."

He put his head back under the pillow again and groaned, remembering John's threat the night before.

He knew John would spank him. He didn't need to be a deductive genius for that - hell, any five year old could figure that out. And, like any five year old Sherlock did not want to be spanked. It hurt and being pinned over John's lap was embarrassing, not to mention the loss of control making him feel like a child.

But a cruel, treacherous part of him said quietly: "But it does work, doesn't it Sherlock?"

"Shut up," he mumbled to the voice.

"You haven't ever wanted to shoot up since the last time though, have you?"

Sherlock growled and shoved his pillow back over his head.

He thought about pretending to be ill. But John would figure it out and even if he didn't it would only postpone the inevitable.

He sighed into the pillow. If only he hadn't taken the sleeping pill last night and saved it for now instead! He could have gone straight back to sleep and forgotten all the awfulness that yesterday brought.

It didn't take long for him to hear a set of footsteps heading towards his room, which could only mean one thing - John.

He let his body relax and breathed slowly, in, out, in, out.

The door creaked ominously as John came into the room. Sherlock heard the doctor say his name but he still lay still, resolutely ignoring the doctor.

"I know you're awake Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't move.

"We're not playing this game. Up. Or I'll get a wet flannel. Ice cubes may also be involved." 

Sherlock removed the pillow from his face. He had learned from previous experiences not to call John bluff when it came to such things. 

John walked over to the bed and sat down. Sherlock watched him warily.

The doctor sighed. "Sherlock, do you know why what you did yesterday was wrong?"

"Yes," he said sullenly.

"Very good. Now, over my knee."

Sherlock flushed. "W-what?" This wasn't right! John wasn't supposed to just do it right away - he hadn't had any time to talk him out of it yet!

John said calmly; "I'm going to spank you. Come here."

"You spanked me yesterday," Sherlock said pleadingly.

"Because you were behaving like a brat, refusing to eat and then even when I overlooked that, you then refused to go to bed. Come here."

Sherlock shook his head, looking down. "Come here now, Sherlock. I won't ask again."

"N-no," He replied, cursing his shaky voice. 

"Fine." John lunged forward, but this was a move Sherlock was expecting and shoving the duvet at his friend he dived away, falling off the other side of the bed and landing on the floor with a thump. He rolled under his bed and lay there panting slightly.

He could see the doctor's feet from where he was and though Sherlock never thought that feet could look furious, John's managed it. "Come out from there, NOW." 

Sherlock drew up his feet as close to his body as he could and set to work on ignoring John. He didn't need this spanking. John was clearly overreacting. Wasn't he?

He didn't have very long to philosophise though because his irate flatmate had clearly had enough of waiting, grabbing Sherlock by the ankle and physically hauling him out on his stomach.

He gave a squark, scrabbling for purchase on the shiny wooden floorboards and cursing Mrs Hudson's varnish. 

In no time at all he found himself draped across John's lap. His flatmate was now sitting cross legged on the floor, Sherlock struggling like he was about to be crucified.

"No John!" He cried, feeling John yank his pyjama bottoms down to his knees, leaving him with only his thin boxers to protect his rear end. 

Sherlock felt his flatmate's hand smack down on his buttocks in a mighty wallop and he yelped. He whimpered as John hit him again and began creating a rhythm. He couldn't believe this was happening again!

"John, please! Stop it, I'm sorry," he fibbed, shoving his hand back to protect his already smarting bottom.

John removed Sherlock's hand calmly, effortlessly pinning it in the small of his back and said: "You can talk when your spanking is over." He resumed his smacks, ignoring Sherlock's yelps and complaints.

"It hurts," howled Sherlock, trying to pull away. He knew his shirt was riding up and it was embarrassing, but the way John was trapping him under his arm and pulling him close was even worse. 

"It's supposed to hurt. It wouldn't give you a lot of incentive to behave if it didn't, would it?"

Landing a particularly hard smack to the base of Sherlock's arse, the doctor began to lecture: "Being allowed to use the lab at Barts is a privilege, Sherlock Holmes. Not a necessity. A sanction. And it is most certainly not yours!" At this he resumed spanking Sherlock's lower bottom.

"And with an experiment like that, you - or Mike for a fact - could have ended up permanently disfigured, who knows. Possibly even killed." 

John's heavy hand fell back to the top of his backside again and the detective felt tears spring from his eyes. He blinked furiously, wanting nothing more than for John to scoop him up and hug him instead of this horribleness.

He remembered being in the lab. The experiment hadn't really been that fun, had it? 

Was it worth it?

As if he could read Sherlock's mind, John landed several hard smacks on his thighs, on bare flesh past where his boxers ended and more tears inexplicably fell from his eyes.

No. 

No, it definitely wasn't worth it.

He let his head flop down so his forehead hit the floor, crying bitterly.

It took him a few moments to notice John had stopped, due to the continued burn in his bottom. However, when he realised that his flatmate was rubbing his back and not still punishing him he pulled his arms free, throwing them round John's waist and sniffling into his jumper. The doctor let him, holding him tightly and massaging his back.

"Hey, it's ok," John said softly. "It's done, no more! You're gonna be well behaved for a while now, aren't you."

Sherlock rolled onto his back, looking up at John. "My bum hurts." He said mournfully.

John nodded. "It will do that, yes. Come on. Let's get you on your bed." 

Sherlock kicked his tangled pyjama trousers off his feet and stood, wobbling slightly. Collapsing face forward into the bed and inching forwards on his elbows, he craned his neck back to peer at his throbbing arse, half expecting to see bruises peeking out from under his pants. There weren't any - yet - but he could see the skin was bright red, right from about mid thigh leading into his underwear. He dreaded seeing what the skin was like under there.

John sat down next to him and gently patted him on the back. "I'm going to make some tea." He said mildly. As he was stepping out of the room, Sherlock called out:

"John!"

"Yeah?"

"I really am sorry."

"It's fine."


End file.
